


Waiting

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Other Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Two men, one shuttle, three hours of air. And no one wants to write letters. Tucker/Hayes. (10/23/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 1.16 "Shuttlepod One," 3.01 "The Xindi," 3.02 "Anomaly."  
  
Happy Belated Birthday, Ionah! This is AU to my other stories, and a PWP.  
  
This was written in response to Ionah's request for a birthday fic. She asked for a Tu/R or an R/Hayes fic, where the guys have graphic (!), unemotional sex because they're sure they're dying. I thought the challenge was cool, but never thought I'd be able to come up for a plot to it. Besides, I'm working on a different story anyway. ('Something to Kill the Pain,' which is now finished!) And then, of course, a bunnie goes and bites me on the butt. Unfortunately, I mis-remembered part of the challenge, and thought the main dude had to be Tucker, rather than Reed. So I'm afraid Malcolm is only here in spirit, not the flesh. But don't worryâ€”there's a young sergeant keeping him warm back on _Enterprise_.  
  
And finally, I'm taking great liberties with Major Hayes and giving him the first name of Matthew, because he desperately needed one. I would be thrilled beyond the telling if anyone else decided Major Matthew Hayes works for them, too. 'Cause Fanon rocks, and TPTB probably will never give the poor guy a first name anyway.  
  
Beta: None this time around, because I'm too damn impatient. Though Kagey was kind enough to look part of it over and tell me it didn't suck. In a bad way.   


* * *

"Incoming!"

Trip Tucker swore, fingers skittering over the controls. The shuttle veered crazily to port.

"No good." After his initial shout, Major Hayes was almost eerily calm. Trip spared him the briefest glance out of the corner of his eye. Hayes's entire concentration was absorbed by the navigation console. His black-gloved fingers twitched unconsciously against the metal, as if searching for a weapon. None of the MACOs knew how to fly—all the major could do was ride shotgun, and call out pretty much useless warnings.

"I see it," Trip snapped back. The missile was still tracking them, tenacious as a bloodhound. "Hang on." He jacked the shuttle's speed up to full impulse, feeling the familiar, almost-comfortable shudder of the ship around him as it responded to the input commands. At the same time he twisted into a sharp dive that crushed both men back in their chairs. There was a warning screech from the console, indicating almost more stress than the inertial dampeners could compensate for.

"Fucking hell!" Hayes yelled. The missile had turned in a beautiful, smooth curve and was still following them. "Doesn't this shitbox have weapons?"

"'Know how t'fire 'em?" Trip snarled. He was absurdly pleased with Hayes's silence, considering it would have been far better if the Major had said 'yes,' but he was too busy figuring out how they might survive this to say anything else. He blinked impatiently at a trickle of sweat that had slipped into his eye, at the same time sending the shuttle veering to starboard, though that did nothing but buy them another second while the missile slowed fractionally to match course.

"Head into the planet's ring!" Hayes shouted the idea like it was an order. "Maybe we can lose it there."

"It's trackin' our heat," Trip ground out. But he was already punching keys, sending the shuttle on a spiral as it dove down into the loose collection of meteorites and rock. He'd chosen that route himself, but for a different reason. "Last I heard, space was a mite colder than plasma."

The major grunted something no-doubt insulting in reply, but Trip wasn't listening anyway. He guessed they had maybe ten seconds left to live if his plan didn't work out. He put in one last course change, one that would hopefully send them hurtling thorough the portion of the planet's rings with the least number of dangerous obstacles. At the same moment, timing it so it would happen just as they turned, he keyed in a final command.

It was a hell of a time to get nostalgic, but still. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as the shuttle's engine was jettisoned.

The shuttle body with the two men in it continued at the new vector, while the engine kept on the original course. It would have most likely gone in that direction forever—barring something appearing in its path—except that the missile finally caught up with it. It exploded spectacularly, beautifully. Malcolm, Trip thought with the crazed timelessness of adrenaline, would have loved it.

The shuttle was far enough away not to be destroyed by the impact, but it was still rocked violently as the blast wave hit. Both men were sent sprawling. Trip heard and felt an impact through the shuttle's hull a moment before the alarm started screaming. "We're venting!" He shouted, scrambling to his feet.

Major Hayes didn't move, but Trip only spared him a glance as he practically threw himself at the storage container with the sealant. This time it was a lot easier to find out where the leak was—whatever had hit them had make a hole on the outer hull big enough that he could feel the air rushing out, like water down a drain.

The tiny crack was on the port bulkhead, just a centimeter or two off the deck. Tucker all but dove for it, hurling himself onto all fours and globing out enough sealant for about fourteen cracks of similar size. But the feeling of moving air finally stopped, along with the alarm.

Trip closed his eyes in relief. He let out a gusty breath as he pushed himself onto his heels, then sagged against the wall. "Sweet Jesus," he gave a shaky laugh. "Never figured I'd be doin' that twice in a lifetime." His feet slid along the deck until his legs stretched out. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, only to realize his fingers were covered with sealant, which he'd now just transferred to his forehead. "Crap."

He heard a wheezy chuckle. "Starfleet's finest."

Trip only opened his eyes enough to glower in Hayes's general direction. "Don't fall all over yourself tryin' t'thank me." He opened his eyes wider when he saw the blood, then was getting back to his feet. "You all right?"

"'Been better," the Major said. He touched the side of his head, winced. He examined his crimson fingertips and scowled.

Trip was at his side again, and he touched Hayes' head gently, tilting it so he could get a better view of the wound. "Looks like you got bashed pretty good," he said. "Did you get knocked out?"

"Just dazed," Hayes admitted. He was surprisingly compliant, not trying to pull away. "That's why I didn't help you." He smirked ruefully. "Too busy seeing stars."

"I'll bet," Trip said. "It doesn't look too bad, though, but you better have Phlox check you out when we get back—you might have a concussion." He pulled his hands back, turning to go to the rear of the shuttle. "I'll get the first aid kit."

"When we get _back_?"

Trip paused, shocked, one hand on the kit, then whirled on the MACO. "What the hell is that supposed t'mean?"

The major laughed, harsh and bitter. "Don't tell me you honestly think we're going to get out of this mess?"

Trip's eyes widened, then he physically shook Hayes's words off, turning back to the first aid kit so he could properly take it out of its alcove in the bulkhead. "Yeah," he said simply, angrily, "I do."

Hayes snorted. "Then either you're a genius or an idiot, 'cause I sure as hell can't see a way out of this."

"Well, maybe that's 'cause you're not lookin' hard enough," Trip snapped. He tossed the kit at the major, noting with malicious satisfaction that Hayes had to scramble to catch it before it smacked him in the chest.

Hayes just glared at him while he flipped the catches up to open the kit. He found two large cleaning pads and handed one to Trip. "Don't forget your head."

"Thanks," Trip said. He opened it quickly, grimacing in distaste as he wiped his forehead.

"We've got three hours of air left, Commander," Hayes said. "I may not be a tin jockey," he sneered in response to Trip's look, "but I can understand readouts as well as anyone." He ripped open the package while he spoke, began cleaning the gash on the side of his head. "Three hours of air, no engine, some psychopaths with warp-fucking-eight capabilities still gunning for us, and no way of contacting _Enterprise_ without letting the bastards know exactly where we are—if they don't already. Not to mention that you've hidden us in all these floating rocks to _keep_ us from being found, right? Now," He smiled coldly up at Trip, "is that an accurate enough assessment for you, sir? Or do I need to look harder?"

Trip threw his hands up. "Jesus Christ, Malcolm!" He shouted. "What the hell _is_ it with you? For once in your goddam life, can't you just—"

"My name is Matthew," Hayes said calmly, cutting neatly through Trip's outburst. "Lieutenant Reed isn't here."

Trip stopped, looking at him. He blinked. "Sorry." He wadded up the cloth and threw it into a corner of the shuttle, then stalked back to the helm consoles. He stood there silently, looking over the readouts for a long time.

"I wasn't exaggerating," Matthew said quietly. Trip hadn't even noticed the MACO standing and moving beside him.

"No," Trip murmured. "No, you weren't. Sweet Jesus." He swallowed, ran his hand through his hair. When he gripped the edge of the console again his fingertips and knuckles went white. "I told Malcolm this seemed more and more like a one-way ticket all the time," he said. He let out a single laugh, sharp and brutal. "Looks like I was right."

Matthew put his hand on Trip's shoulder. "It's possible that _Enterprise_ received our distress call. They could still find us first."

"Yeah," Trip said on a breath. He was still staring down at the console. "Sure." He swallowed again. "I guess—I guess I should write some letters. Say goodbye and all." He didn't move.

Matthew's hand on his shoulder moved to the back of Trip's neck in a single, warm slide. The MACO's fingers moved into the short hairs on the back of Trip's neck, massaging gently. "I can think of something I'd rather do—sir." He said. The meaning was unmistakable.

Trip looked at him, finally. His eyes were wide. "Major?"

"My name is Matthew," he said. The touch on Trip's neck became a caress. "I already told you that." And he leaned in and kissed him.

Their lips had scarcely touched before Trip's hands were on Matthew's shoulders, shoving him back. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"You know damn well what I'm doing, Commander," Matthew said mildly. He hadn't moved his hand from Trip's neck. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll back off." He quirked a tiny smile. "You can write all the letters you want. But you have to tell me you're not interested. 'Cause I sure as hell am."

Trip's hands were still on Matthew's shoulders, his eyes fixed to the other man's face. He took a deep breath. "I don't want to write letters."

"Then shut up," Matthew said. And he kissed him again.

Trip, decided, returned the kiss enthusiastically. His right hand slid up to the back of Matthew's neck, practically pinning the other man's lips against his as Trip licked every part of his mouth. He sucked hard on Matthew's tongue, grinning against his lips when he heard Matthew grunt in response. Matthew bit Trip's lip in return, not hard, but enough to be startling.

Trip pulled away, looking askance at him. "What was that for?"

Matthew smiled. "Just making sure I had your attention." Then in one move he grabbed the front of Trip's uniform and swept Trip's feet out from under him.

Trip hit the deck with a crash. "Ow! Son of a bitch! What the _fuck_ —"

Matthew all but pounced on him, straddling his hips and pinning his arms. He grinned down at Trip's enraged expression. "'Don't like it rough?"

"Get the fuck off me!" Trip snarled. He tried to buck Matthew off him, but the major had the advantage of weight and positioning.

Matthew just laughed, leaned down to kiss him. Trip turned his face away, gritting his teeth. Instead of going for his lips, he felt Matthew licking and nibbling along his jaw, leading a little sharp trail to his earlobe.

"Stop it," Trip said, cursing himself inwardly that his voice had lost all trace of command or anger. There was one last nip at the skin under his ear and he hissed in a mix of pleasure and pain. Then Matthew pulled his earlobe into his mouth with his tongue, began sucking. Trip moaned.

He heard Matthew's voice, soft and husky right by his ear, felt the moist puff of his breath. "Tell me you don't want it, Commander," he said, making Trip's title into a sort of derisive caress, "say you don't want me."

"Asshole," Trip ground out. Matthew's tongue dipped into the cup of his ear and he groaned. "Just fuck me before we run out of air."

"Yes, _sir_ ," Matthew smirked. He leaned back, essentially sitting on Trip's legs, and let go of Trip's forearms. His eyes flicked down to Trip's obvious arousal and he gave a wide, feral smile. "You _do_ like it rough." He reached for the zipper of his own black-and-silver uniform and pulled the zipper down, eyes never leaving Trip's. Trip watched him shrug off the jacket and let it drop to the deck, then yank his shirt over his head with one smooth, cross-armed pull.

When Matthew's torso was bare except for his faintly-jangling dog tags, he reached for Trip's zipper, sliding it all the way open. "Damn," he said calmly when he saw how far away it ended from Trip's groin. "They sure don't make these easy to get out of, do they?"

"Guess we ain't as eager as you shark boys t'get outta them," Trip drawled nastily.

"Oh, you wound me, Starflee-" Matthew's sarcastic reply turned into a surprised squawk as Trip suddenly surged upright, hammering the heels of both palms into the major's chest. Matthew tumbled backwards and Trip yanked his legs free.

"So, d' _you_ like it rough, Matt?" Trip smiled as the MACO sat up glowering. He pulled his sleeves down, freeing his upper body of his uniform.

"You have no idea, Commander," Matthew said. For just a second he smiled wistfully. "I wish we had more time."

Trip's expression faltered. "Me too." But then Matthew was kissing him again: fiercely, possessively. Trip allowed himself to be pushed back to the floor.

He felt Matthew's fingers on his hips. "Lift," Matthew ordered. Trip obediently raised his hips up, and felt his uniform and briefs slide off with one swift jerk. His cock sprang free, hard and hot.

"Nice," Matthew commented. He glanced up and Trip could see the glint in his eyes. Then Matthew swooped down and engulfed the head in his mouth.

"God!" Trip's eyes flew wide, his hips bucking unconsciously. He heard Matthew chuckle, felt the vibration ripple through his penis and all the way up his spine. Matthew began sucking him, moving his head up and down to take as much of Trip into his mouth as he could. His tongue swirled around the tip, slipping back and forth along the slit. One of his hands went to Trip's balls, squeezing and rolling them.

"Oh, Jesus, yeah. Suck me," Trip panted, barely feeling the metal behind him as his head thrashed back and forth on the deck. Another throaty, vibrating laugh almost undid him right there. Trip's fists clenched in the sleeves of his discarded uniform. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop."

He felt Matthew's fingers moving, slipping from his balls along the strip of skin between his sac and his anus. He felt a fingertip circle the puckered opening, slip inside.

Trip thrust upward violently, coming with a shout. He was only vaguely aware of Matthew's head moving, his hand where his mouth had been, pumping him until the rush of come subsided to weak spurts. Trip jerked his hips away. "Too much," he said breathlessly. "Jesus. Jesus, that was good."

He lay there limply, eyes closed. He felt Matthew laying beside him, then the light touch of his fingers, stroking back his hair.

Trip opened his eyes, surprised to see Matthew with his chin propped on one hand, just watching him as he continued the gentle movement.

"What?"

Matthew's grin was huge. "You look good like that: just-fucked. I like it."

Trip snorted, but he was feeling too good to mean it. "We live to serve."

"Good to hear." Matthew leaned in and they kissed. Slow this time, languidly. Trip didn't resist when Matthew took his hand and pressed it to the bulge in his uniform pants.

Trip pulled back to smile at him, waggling his eyebrows. "Somethin' I c'n do for you, Major?"

"Yes. And hurry the hell up," Matthew growled.

Trip smirked against Matthew's lips as they went back to kissing. He rolled up onto his side, gliding his hand over the major's smooth chest, delighting in the feel of his muscles, the hard nubs of his nipples, the slight ridges of his ribcage. But he didn't protest when Matthew's hand covered his again, guiding it back to his groin. With practiced ease, the MACO undid the buttons of his fly with one hand, then pulled Trip's hand in to cover his penis.

Trip broke their kiss again, quirking an eyebrow. "The commando's goin' commando?"

"Shut up and do me," Matthew ordered.

"Yes, sir." Trip mimicked what Matthew had said to him earlier, but he was already caressing Matthew's cock: squeezing the hard shaft, moving his hand so he could circle the cap with his thumb.

"Oh yeah," Matthew breathed into his mouth. "Oh yeah. That's it." He sighed, closing his eyes.

Trip started a steady, urgent rhythm, copying it with his tongue in Matthew's mouth. Matthew's breathing had degenerated into desperate, gasping sobs. His kisses became frantic, devouring. All at once his head fell back and he came, mouth open in soundless howl of pleasure. Trip kept stroking, feeling Matthew's cock pulse in his hand. He milked it until there was nothing left but tiny beads of semen.

"Christ," Matthew sighed heavily. "Fuck." He patted Trip awkwardly on his side with one groping hand. "You're more talented than you look."

"Thanks," Trip said dryly. He rolled onto his back, letting his arm flop. He couldn't move his legs much with his uniform bunched around his thighs, but he figured he'd deal with that in a minute. "So're you. They teach you how to suck cock in boot camp?"

Matthew laughed quietly. "Officer training."

"Knew I should'a joined the military."

They lay side by side for a while in comfortable silence. Trip was half-asleep, thinking this might be a fine way to die, when Matthew jogged his shoulder.

"Someone should see how much air we have left."

Trip didn't move. "What the hell for?"

"You're right." Matthew lay back. "Well, we should still get dressed."

"Why?" Trip asked. His eyes were still closed. "They're just going to blow us up when they find us."

"That's true," Matthew said. He paused. "But what if _Enterprise_ finds us? They'll have to state what condition our bodies were in."

One side of Trip's mouth curved up. "Then I guess they'll know we went out with a bang."

Matthew laughed again, deep and genuine. "Dumbass."

Trip felt the major's hand on his stomach, gently rubbing back and forth. It was nice.

A minute later the comm. cut in. It was _Enterprise_. Hoshi's voice: sweet as a dream. She was saying the ship would be there in minutes, asking if they were all right, begging them to respond.

Trip and Matthew looked at each other and laughed.


End file.
